I got a surprise the next day when Gabe informed me that April Rafferty would be arriving at about noon. A shadow had crept into his eyes. “Except,” he said, “that her name isn’t anymore. She’s April now.”
April Rafferty had been his fiancé eleven years earlier, when he climbed aboard the and disappeared into the night. They hadn’t set a wedding date when it happened, but it had been obvious they weren’t going to delay it much longer. April had been heartbroken when the ship was lost. She’d waited, praying that someone would figure out what had happened and provide a reason to keep up hope. But after a few weeks without contact, everything turned negative. Whatever had occurred, the experts said, .
The Confederacy went into shock. It was easily the worst interstellar disaster ever. The had disappeared and taken everyone with her. April had come to me because I was a pilot and she thought I might be able to offer a ray of hope. Interstellars had been occasionally disappearing over the centuries. A few came back after having suffered minor engine damage of some sort, combined with a communication blackout. But that sort of thing was extremely rare. So when she showed up at my cottage one evening a few days after the incident and asked whether I thought there was any chance that Gabe was alive somewhere and whether there was any possibility he’d be found, I said nothing to give her hope. I thought a claim in which I had no confidence would do nothing except extend the pain.
April arrived exactly at noon. I told her how good it was to see her again. She responded by saying much the same thing. She hadn’t changed, except that maybe some of the vibrancy that I remembered was gone. But that was natural after so many years. I let Gabe know and led her into my office. His office door opened in back, he came forward, and I tried to figure out how to get out of the way. I recall saying something about how I hoped she was happy with whomever it was she’d married.
Then Gabe arrived. They exchanged warm smiles. “April,” he said, “you won’t believe this but it’s only been about three weeks since I saw you.”
“That’s what I’ve been hearing,” she said. “Gabe, I missed you.”
They moved into a cautious embrace while I excused myself and left the room. The last thing I heard was Gabe asking whether she was okay.
II.
Celebrate whenever and whatever you can. Wed, bring forth a child, repair a broken door, cut the grass, and do not waste the opportunity to beat the drum with friends and throw a party. It is the essence of life and joy.
A few nights later, we threw another party. We cleared several rooms, brought in a band, served drinks and side dishes, and danced well into the night. I’d hoped that Gabe might have invited April and her husband. But he said nothing either to Alex or to me. I’d thought about making the suggestion but realized it would be a terrible idea. So I kept my distance.
Guests included a couple of archeologists from Andiquar University; people from several museums, including Argus Konn, who’d traveled halfway around the globe to attend; and historians, one of whom was writing an archeological book that featured Gabe in a prime role. There were also a few family members and old friends. And there was someone else from his earlier days: his pilot, Tori Kolpath. My mom. I watched them fall into each other’s arms. For me it was the highlight of the evening. She’d come from the other side of the continent to be here. And when she began talking about her reaction to his reported death, tears rolled down her cheeks. Gabe told me later it was the only time he’d ever seen that kind of emotional outburst from her.
Fenn Redfield, a police commissioner who’d been only an inspector when the vanished, was also present. He’d helped Alex on several occasions and also, to Gabe’s surprise, became his longtime tennis partner. Gabe had never known Redfield to play tennis.
We all sat down to prep for the banquet. Alex kicked things off by introducing Gabe to a round of enthusiastic applause. “He was the man,” he said, “who made it possible to uncover the truth about Christopher Sim.” Sim, of course, was remembered as the George Washington of the Confederacy, the legendary hero who’d held the Mutes at bay during the war years. Gabe spoke for a few minutes about how happy he was to be back with old friends on solid ground.
Amanda Ornstein, one of the University Museum directors, commented how quiet everything had been while he was gone. “All the excitement of the old days,” she said, “kind of subsided. I don’t know if Gabe ever thought of himself as a driving force, but I think we came to realize how much we needed him.”
Gabe looked up from his drink and smiled. “You want some old-time excitement, Amanda?”
“Of course,” she said. Amanda was tall, serene, a onetime actor who still attracted the attention of males despite her advanced age.
“Good enough.” Gabe grinned. “I was going to let this go for a while, but this is probably as good a time as any. Give me a second. I’ll be right back.” He finished his drink, got up from the table, and left.
Amanda looked toward Alex. “I didn’t mean to start anything.”
“It’s okay. He’s still making some adjustments.”
Quinda Arin, another of Gabe’s longtime friends, just stared at the door he’d passed through. “It’s really nice having him back. I don’t think I ever appreciated him until we’d lost him. Alex, do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”
“None whatever. But apparently he’s got something hidden in his room.”
Amanda asked her audience if anyone knew whether Gabe planned to resume his archeological career. Several hands went up, and the answer was a resounding . Several of our visitors had posed the question to him, and in each case Gabe had responded with enthusiasm. Of course he was. There was some inconsistency about the nature of his next project, but details didn’t matter.
Eventually Quinda approached me. “You think he’s okay?”
“Sure.” I thought about saying I’d go check, but that was silly. He was gone longer than we expected. We all assumed he’d gone to get something, but when finally he came back, his hands were empty and he looked frustrated. His eyes settled on Alex and me. “I had an artifact back there. A silver trophy. I think it was on the shelf in the closet. You guys by any chance know what happened to it?”
We’d kept his quarters pristine for a year or so. But gradually we’d begun using it for storage of artifacts owned by our clients. They were usually for sale, and they sent them to us to ascertain their value and arrange delivery when they were moved.
“A silver trophy?” asked Alex.
“Yes. The owner was, I think, Angela Harding. She wanted me to figure out whether it was an artifact. Possibly from a high-tech civilization. There was an imprint using characters I’d never seen before and wasn’t able to track.”
Alex thought about it. “I don’t recall seeing anything like that in there.”
Gabe turned toward me. “It was shaped like a flower vase, widening toward the top. It had a cone image in front and three lines of characters that didn’t match any known language. How about you, Chase? You ever see it?”
Yeah, I’d seen it. Four or five years ago. “I remember it.”